Words will Fill in the Holes
by Immortal x Snow
Summary: It starts with a list. Pidge-centric drabble, spoilers for season 2.


**Please note before reading that this fic uses female pronouns for Pidge. Thanks.**

 **I know our little Pidge is so brave and strong about everything, but sometimes I think about the fact that she's only 14 and my heart breaks a little. I wanted to explore that a bit more here.**

* * *

It starts with a list.

There's something about putting things in order that satisfies Pidge. Taming all the chaos of life nowadays, fighting to control the holes in her heart.

Before, she took out her feelings on her tech: modifying her laptop after a disagreement with one of her parents, teaching herself code when she was stuck in bed sick and exhausted, taking her phone apart and putting it back together when she was worried and needed to do something while she fidgeted.

Now, her hands shake too much and she angers too quickly.

She makes lists to put in her pockets instead, as long as writing remains doable.

 _Half-made bed with that comforter that has (inaccurate) galaxies on it_

 _An empty juice box that just missed the trash can (he's a failure at trashketball)_

 _Desk with spare parts to some project or other_

 _Bookshelf, mostly textbooks but some novels too—_ Dune _and practically all of Asimov and Bradbury—with sticky notes on some pages_ (she doesn't open them to see which ones)

She tries to repeat the process with her father's room, but her mother is crying inside. Pidge is afraid to comfort her.

* * *

Not long after joining Team Voltron, her attempts to find her family thwarted at every turn, she begins another list (just because, she tells herself):

 _His shoelaces were always untied_

 _He hated peas_

 _He had the worst bedhead. Worse than mine. It was fun to wake up before him, no matter how early, just to see his hair all over the place_

It's the unconscious past tense that brings her to tears.

She is not discouraged, no, but she is tired down to the depths of her heart, and her fingertips tingle with pain as she sits on her bed and wishes she were just powerful enough.

* * *

When he finds the balled-up list outside Pidge's door, Shiro pulls her aside. He puts his flesh arm around her thin shoulders as she cries warm tears, wiping her face every few moments on the rough sleeve of her shirt. Shiro waits for her breathing to slow before he speaks, keeping his voice soft.

"You're right about Matt's bedhead."

Pidge clutches her pillow a little tighter. Shiro wonders if talking will in fact help.

"I remember one time when I was first getting to know him back at the Garrison. He woke up late and had to go to class with his hair like that, all crazy and sticking out in funny places. The jokes continued for weeks. Got better with time, actually. What a first impression."

Shiro feels Pidge lean into his side. When he looks down, a small smile is beginning to make her face shine again.

"And you know it's because of your father that I feel comfortable leading Team Voltron. He set a good example for me."

"I didn't know that. But it makes sense."

They sit silently for a few moments, their backs pressed against the couch.

"Do the lists help?" Shiro finally asks.

Pidge nods. Talking does, too, but she doesn't know quite how to phrase that at the moment.

"Do you want to make one with me? Like this one about Matt, but about your father? Here, I'll get some paper if you want to write it."

The pencil shakes a bit in Pidge's hand, but she manages to write down their shared memories of Commander Holt, even laughing a little along the way:

 _He doesn't actually like peas, either._

 _Morning person, to everyone else's disgust._

 _Always knows how to make each person in the room smile._

* * *

She has to make another list soon. She knows she should talk to the other Paladins. Their words will help, will fill in the holes a little. But her grief weighs down too heavily for her voice and her hands to seek aid beyond her list:

 _Always knew how to make each person in the room feel brave_

 _Made bad sound effects after training to make us laugh_

 _My father inspired him_

She makes a final addition before falling sleep, smothered by her sadness:

 _He was like another brother to me_


End file.
